


A bath for Kosmo

by VulpesVulpes713



Series: Fictober 2018 [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fictober 2018, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, klance, kosmo gets a bath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 17:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16580678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpesVulpes713/pseuds/VulpesVulpes713
Summary: Prompts:Day 12: “Who could do this?”Day 13: “Try harder, next time.”Day 14: “Some people call this wisdom.”





	A bath for Kosmo

He figures his system is flawless, since it’s been proven to work countess times in the past.

 

Granted, the mice are smaller, and  _much_  more agreeable than the wolf he’s attempting to bathe. And the mice don’t teleport.

 

Lance realizes too late that perhaps he should have taken that detail more heavily into account.

 

But Kosmo was easy to work with at first: he’d followed Lance’s order to sit in the tub, had stayed still while the water was run over his fur, and he’d panted happily whilst Lance got down to scrubbing him clean with shampoo.

 

Not that Kosmo really  _needed_  a bath to begin with, but Lance had been bored. Hunk and Pidge were busy, Allura was with Coran and Shiro, and Keith….well Keith was doing Keith stuff, which meant he was off on his own picking fights with the training bots or something equally as moody.

 

So yeah, Lance had been bored, and Kosmo had just… _been there,_  looking lazy and smelling a bit too much like Kaltenecker’s pen, so why not?

 

“Who’s the best space wolf in the universe?” Lance coos as he rinses his hands of soap, ready to do the same to the massive dog sitting soaked in the tub. Kosmo’s ears flick forward, listening intently to Lance’s words, before a long, drooly tongue falls from his mouth.

 

“Yes,” Lance drawls, grinning. “ _You_ are! And now you  _smell_  like the best space wolf in the universe. Ready to rinse?”

 

He thinks Kosmo nods, but doesn’t linger on it. It’s bad enough that the mice seem to be in tune to what he’s thinking. The last thing he needs is Keith’s pet doing the same.

 

“Alright, just keep doing what you’ve been doing.”

 

And Kosmo does. He sits and patiently waits until all the suds are washed from his fur, which is a  _long_  process, considering how much fur there is to work with.

 

“Good boy,” Lance pats his head as he shuts off the tap, and forgets for a moment the intellect of the beast watching him. “All done now-”

 

The moment the words leave his lips, he regrets them. It’s a force of habit, saying he’s done when he’s not. Because what he’d  _meant_  was that the  _bath_  portion was finished. He had yet to dry the poor doggo off, and then brush him, and style his coat. Those were all separate processes, but Lance had failed to explain that.

 

Because this was a dog. And dogs don’t typically  _need_  explaining to.

 

But Kosmo isn’t… _really_  a dog. Lance knows that. But again, force of habit. It’

 

s too late now to go back and change his wording anyway. Immediately after hearing that he’s free to go, Kosmo stands, shakes, and vanishes.

 

Just- _dissolves_  into a spray of glitter and magic dust, leaving Lance gawking at the wet tub coated with bubbles and hair, wondering where on Earth the teleporting wolf would have gone.

 

And then he hears Keith scream.

 

* * *

 

He’d been lounging on his bed in his room, taking advantage of a relatively quiet afternoon. There’s only so much he and the other paladins can do on Earth now anyway, except sit and wait.

 

But sitting and waiting are not things that Keith finds particularly interesting, so he’s busied himself with training in the meantime, much to Shiro’s disapproval.

 

_Whatever. It’s all I can do anyway._

 

But training can only go on for so long, and exhaustion has been tugging at Keith for the last week, likely longer, so he thinks it wouldn’t hurt to steal a quick nap from the day.

 

He’s in the middle of thinking that perhaps a shower is a better use of his time when something massive, heavy and  _absolutely sodden_  lands on top of him, as if the universe heard his thoughts and gave him this as it’s answer.

 

And Keith replies in kind with a rightfully startled yell that may or may not have come out three octaves too high.

 

“What the-” he manages to squeak after the initial surprise, before Kosmo is eagerly lapping at his face with a sloppy tongue. “Why are you soaking wet?!  **Who could do this** to you?!”

 

He figures Kosmo must have found some puddle to roll in outside, but he smells familiar. Like the soap the Garrison provided them all in their rooms. But there’s something else too, some scent mixed in with the others that has Keith narrowing his eyes as he tries to focus on it, thinking he knows it, recognizes it.

 

And then someone is knocking on his door.

 

“Oi, Keith!”

 

And it clicks.

 

His door opens, revealing an equally soaked looking Lance, who storms into the room with his hands on his hips.

 

“Kosmo! You _bad_  dog!” he scolds, and Kosmo shrinks back, hiding behind Keith and promptly ruining the sheets. “I wasn’t finished!”

 

“The hell were you doing to him?!” Keith demands, wincing as cold, soggy fur presses into his side. “Why is he so wet!?”

 

Lance’s eyes dart away from Kosmo towards Keith, where they scan over him and immediately shift from annoyance to humour.

 

“Oh my god, you’re soaked-”

 

“Yeah no shit!” Keith grumbles, and behind him Kosmo whines. “What happened?!”

 

Lance shrugs, folding his arms over his chest as he shifts his weight to one foot.

 

“I was giving him a bath.”

 

“He’s still  _drenched!”_

 

“I  _know_  that,” Lance huffs. “I was about to dry him off when he magicked his way out of the tub. I tried stopping him but-”

 

“ **Try harder, next time.** ”

 

Lance frowns, brows lowering dangerously over blue eyes. It’s an expression that has Keith shivering, but he blames that on the chill of wet clothes.

 

“You know, you could have helped me.” Lance’s tone is low and even: annoyed, but not to the point of anger. He’s scolding him, he realizes, and Keith almost finds it funny.

 

“He didn’t need a bath,” he retorts, knowing it’s a losing battle but swinging anyway. Besides, he’s not had a proper conversation with Lance for a while, aside from the exchange of pleasantries. He’s missed their banter: wishes it would shift to something more.

 

But Lance has been distant, and Keith’s afraid to ask why. Afraid because he thinks he already knows.

 

“He  _did_  need a bath.” Lance goes on, using his hands as he speaks. “Haven’t you  _smelled_ him lately?!”

 

“No,” Keith spits back, standing to wring out his shirt. It doesn’t do much in terms of drying him off.

 

“That’s because you have no sense of-” but Lance trails off as Keith reaches to take off his top, bringing it over his head and pausing as he notices the sudden silence. He peeks over the hem and sees Lance openly staring at his midriff. His… _exposed_  midriff.

 

And his face is red, mouth slightly ajar as whatever insult he’d about to hurl Keith’s way is forgotten.

 

_Oh…what’s this now?_

 

He’s known for a while now how he feels about Lance, what he wishes they could become. But he’s never allowed himself the privilege of pursuing it. He’s been too scared to suggest anything more than friendship due to past experience. Lance just… _never_  showed any interest. He’d had eyes only for Allura: for girls in general. And Keith wasn’t stupid enough to risk taking down his walls in front of someone who wouldn’t care about what was hidden behind them.

 

So he’d tried forgetting Lance. Tried pushing him away. And he  _knows_  the reason Lance has been so distant towards him now is in response to those actions. The reason he’s short with their talks. Why he looks away whenever their eyes meet, or seeks out any excuse to leave if they’re left alone.

 

And Keith wants to try something other than arguing, but he’s also desperate to drown out the begging from his own heart, and fighting is the easiest way to do that.

 

But now…with Lance clearly flustered enough by Keith’s undressing to be rendered speechless? That has some flare of hope igniting within him, and Keith decides it might not hurt to fan that flame, just once.

 

He grins to himself, pleased with the turn of events, and finishes taking off his shirt with a tardiness that’s not at all required. He doesn’t move to find something dry to wear right away either, instead twisting the dripping article of clothing between his hands as he smirks over at Lance.

 

“What was that?” he teases, and watches victoriously as Lance’s eyes snap up to his own, cheeks a dark red as he stammers and looks away.

 

“I-you-” he swallows, frowning again as he glares at the far wall. “I was saying you smell good.”

 

“I smell good?” Keith repeats, stunned and absolutely amused when Lance’s eyes widen and his ears flush scarlet.

 

“NO! You  _look_  good, is what I-”

 

“I  _look_ good now? Thanks,” Keith teases, but his own courage is quickly weakening.

 

_Oh fuck..I was not ready-_

 

“ _Bad!_  Not good! BAD!” Lance practically shouts, fists clenched as he exhales sharply. “You smell bad and you look bad and you need to put on a shirt.”

 

 _Oh-ho?_ Keith nearly laughs, but somehow manages to keep it in.  _He wants me to cover up now? Wonder why…_

 

“I prefer to air dry,” he states as nonchalantly as he can, watching Lance for a reaction. “It’s better for the immune system.”

 

“Sounds like something an idiot would say,” Lance spits back, purposefully avoiding his gaze.

 

_Why isn’t he looking at me?_

 

But Keith knows why. And it’s doing wonders for his confidence.

 

 _You aren’t as sly as you think you are Lance. And you’re not as straight either. I_ knew _it!_

 

It’s a revelation that has Keith stepping forward, lifting his arms up and over his head in a stretch, watching Lance struggle to keep his eyes elsewhere.

 

“Oh?” he says innocently, gathering up his hair and tying it in a pony tail. Blue flickers his way, but doesn’t linger. The flush creeping up Lance’s neck tells Keith what he needs to know regardless. “ **Some people call** it **wisdom.** ”

 

“Then those people are all idiots!” Lance huffs back, tossing his hands to the side as he gives in and turns, gesturing to Keith’s front before beginning a long winded rant. “Standing around damp is a sure-fire way to get some sort of illness, and it’s not like the rooms here are all that warm, especially now with fall on the way and the drafts in the hallways. Quit trying to prove a point and go and put a shirt on before you start sniffling and get everyone else sick, because the last thing we all need right now is case of runny nose while trying to form Voltron and-”

 

“Okay, geesh,” Keith holds his hands out in surrender, failing to suppress his smile as Lance glares his way. But it’s a cute glare. A pout almost. And as much as Keith wants to see how far he can push his luck…how adorably red he can make the paladin of the same colour, he thinks he’s had his fun. He can’t risk ruining things now that he has all this new information. He needs to bide his time. Figure it out more.

 

He has hope again, and he intends to make the most of it.

 

But Lance will also need time, so Keith heeds his advice and tosses his damp shirt in the laundry pile before reaching for a dry one. He doesn’t do so with any haste though, noticing Lance’s stolen peeks with a sly grin. He may or may not flex a bit in the process.

 

_I’ve never seen him so flustered. God…to think I’d almost given up._

 

“Better?” he asks when he’s finished, but Lance doesn’t acknowledge the question, instead choosing to speak to the wall.

 

“Don’t blame me if you get sick.”

 

“And what about you?” he points to Lance’s own clothes, not quite as dripping as Keith’s shirt had been, but close enough. “You’re one to talk.”

 

“I…I’m fine.”

 _Sure,_  he thinks, moving back to his closet to grab a clean hoodie off the shelf.  _But your excuse to get me back into a shirt is gonna work in my favour._

 

“Here,” he holds out his hand, offering the clothing to Lance, who looks to be in a real conflict with himself. Denial wins, and Lance shakes his head.

 

“I don’t need that. I’ll be fine.”

 

_Nice try._

 

“So you’re allowed to get mad at me for wearing wet clothes but I can’t get mad at you? That’s hardly fair, Lance.”

 

And he makes sure to emphasize Lance’s name when he says it, draws it out, shapes it with his tongue. It has an impact upon execution, a fact made known by the growing blush on Lance’s face.

And Keith is  _thriving._

 

“I wasn’t mad because you were wearing wet clothes,” Lance argues, quick to mask his emotions. “I was  _informing_  you of the risks of standing around shirtless with wet skin. Totally different. Not the same at all.”

 

“Hey,” Keith shrugs, holding the hoodie out again, “if you wanna strip off so we’re even I don’t mind.”

 

_Bingo._

 

Lance’s mouth opens, retort at the ready, but it fall short, and Keith gets to watch him struggle with his sexuality for a solid minute before he finally relents.

 

“Fine.” He mutters, yanking the hoodie from Keith’s hand. He holds it up in front of himself, scowls at it once, then directs the look upwards to land on Keith. “Look away, you pervert.”

 

“Rude,” Keith mumbles, but does as asked. He’s actually in shock that Lance accepted his offer to begin with, but try as he might, he can’t hold himself back from stealing a few glances over his shoulder as Lance removes his own wet top. And it’s not like he’s never seen Lance shirtless before…but there’s something different when it’s in his room. Something different when he  _knows_  that Lance is harbouring secret feelings of his own.

 

It has Keith’s cheeks warming uncomfortably as he’s given the okay to look again, understanding the implications of the situation-what it could all mean. 

 

And then, to make matters worse, Keith finds himself hastily coughing to mask the noise that escapes his throat when he witnesses the full glory that is Lance wearing his clothes. Whatever chill facade he’d been hoping to get across is at risk, but Lance misinterprets the reaction, and goes on the defensive right away.

 

“What, do I look  _that_  bad?” he demands. “Well jokes on you because it’s  _your_  hoodie-”

 

“You look great,” Keith hears himself say, and the silence that follows his remark is deafening.

 

_Oh no. I made it awkward! Fuck…fix it!_

 

“But that’s probably because, like you said, it’s  _my_  hoodie, so-”

 

“Oh my god,” Lance mumbles under his breath, rolling his eyes as he gathers up his own shirt from off the floor. “I hope you get sick.”

 

“Ah, don’t be mad,” Keith jests with a relieved chuckle, walking over to the boy to stop him turning away. “Besides, you’re the one who decided to wash my dog and send him back soaking wet, so if I get sick it’s  _kinda_  your fault-”

 

“I never-!” Lance starts, swinging around to face Keith. But he stops short when he notices how close they’ve gotten, and flushes beautifully as he stammers over the rest of his sentence. “He just-I was…you know-!”

 

“What,” Keith pesters, leaning in closer. “Cat got your tongue?”

 

“I-”

 

“Or maybe it’s the Galra-”

 

“That’s  _it!”_  Lance interrupts, shoving at Keith’s chest lightly as he storms over to the door. His face is practically on fire with how red it is, and Keith is reminded as to why it’s his second favourite colour. “That’s the last time I do  _you_ or your  _stinky_  wolf any favours! Have fun getting sick and smelling-”

 

“Good?”

 

“Yes, wait-no!” Lance curses loudly, but Keith doesn’t know what it is he says. Probably nothing flattering, but he finds himself laughing nonetheless. Lance doesn’t join in, instead reaching for the doorknob to leave, and Keith stops him before he can turn it, grabbing hold of his arm as he sobers immediately.

 

“Hold on, Lance,” he breathes deeply, focusing his thoughts as Lance’s eyes scan over his face. It’s disorientating, being this close. Especially now that he knows there’s still a chance Lance feels the same.

 

Or at least feels  _differently_  than he’d been letting on.

 

And as much as he wants to keep teasing the boy, Keith knows where to draw the line. Besides, he can’t have Lance leaving thinking he’s ungrateful for his efforts.

 

“Thank you,” he confesses softly, watching Lance wobble slightly as he does, “for trying to give Kosmo a bath.”

 

And Lance blinks, staring for a good three seconds before his face drops and his brows lower and his mouth opens to rant up at Keith once again.

 

“Excuse me- _trying?!_ I  _gave_ him a bath! There was no  _trying_ at all! It was a successful endeavor!”

 

And Keith grins. He shouldn’t…but he can’t help it.

 

“Then how come he’s still wet?”

 

And Lance goes off.

 

But it’s delightful. It’s addicting. It’s  _domestic_  even, and Keith can’t help but love it.

 

He’d  _missed_  this Lance. He’d missed teasing him, missed arguing with him. He’d missed the times they could banter and not feel any heat in the words. And it’s  _so_ much more enjoyable now that he can  _sense_  the underlying feelings in every jest, every insult and snappy retort.

 

And for so long he’d been convinced that there was no point in trying. That Lance was just another guy he would like and nothing more would ever come from it. Keith was used to one-sided crushes.

 

But now?

 

Now he has a weapon. He’s seen the hints. He can make the most of the shining ray of hope peeking through the walls around his heart, the gap widening with every blush that rises on brown skin.

 

He can make this mutual. Thinks it might already be. Because the truth of the matter is that Keith likes  _being_  with Lance, and he knows that Lance likes being with him. Otherwise he wouldn’t be. Otherwise he would have left already. Otherwise he wouldn’t currently be standing here, right in front of him, cursing his ear off in Spanish as he points around the room with expressive, rowdy hands covered by the sleeves of Keith’s own hoodie.

 

And Keith watches, feeling no inclination to stop him, or interject. He lets Lance fume, only adding in sly comments here and there to set the boy off again, teasing,  _flirting!_

 

And somewhere along the line Lance’s expression changes.

 

Somewhere his tone shifts, and his own smiles start mingling with Keith’s. Somewhere they begin laughing, and it doesn’t stop for a long while. Somewhere they sit on the bed, and stand right away as they recall the wet beast dozing in the corner. Somewhere an agreement is made that they’ll dry off Kosmo together, and the arguing continues, but it’s friendlier. It’s lighthearted.

 

It’s familiar, like the scent of Lance that still lingers on Kosmo’s fur as they set about their new task. Somewhere they begin stealing glances, hands overlapping every now and again with every pass of the towel, and somewhere Keith makes a mental note to let his wolf sleep with Kaltenecker more often, so he can be there the next time Lance decides to give him a bath.

 

But whatever it is, somewhere, something changes between them, and Keith holds tight to the hope that follows.  

 

Because Lance likes him. He’s  _sure_  of it.

 

And he won’t let it go this time.


End file.
